McLeery’s hitherto amiable demeanour was slightly ruffled by this tasteless little pleasantry, and he answered Jackson somewhat sourly. “If ye must know, I suffer from haemorrhoids, and when I’m sitting down for any length o’ time—”
“Very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to, er...” The embarrassment was still reddening Jackson’s cheeks when he found the paper-knife at the bottom of the case. “I think I’d better keep this though, if you don’t mind, that is, sir.”
It was 9:18 A.M. before the Governor heard their voices again, and it was clear that the examination was going to be more than a little late in getting under way.
McLeery: “Ye’ve got a watch?”
Evans: “Yes, sir.”
McLeery: “I’ll be telling ye when to start, and again when ye’ve five minutes left. A’ right?”
Silence.
McLeery: “There’s plenty more o’ this writing paper should ye need it.”
Silence.
McLeery: “Now. Write the name of the paper, 021–1, in the top left-hand corner.”
Silence.
McLeery: “In the top right-hand corner write your index number — 313. And in the box just below that, write your centre number — 271. A’ right?”
Silence. 9:20 A.M.
McLeery: “I’m now going to—”
Evans: “ ’E’s not goin’ to stay ’ere, is ’e?”
McLeery: “I don’t know about that. I—”
Stephens: “Mr. Jackson’s given me strict instructions to—”
Evans: “ ’Ow the ’ell am I supposed to concentrate on me exam with a bleedin’ screw breathin’ down me neck? Christ! Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean—”
The Governor reached for the phone. “Jackson? Ah, good. Get Stephens out of that cell, will you? I think we’re perhaps overdoing things.”
“As you wish, sir.”
The Governor heard the exchanges in the cell, heard the door clang to once more, and heard McLeery announce that the examination had begun at last.
It was 9:25 A.M.; and there was a great calm.
At 9:40 A.M. die Examinations Board rang through, and the Assistant Secretary with special responsibility for modern languages asked to speak to the Governor. The examination had already started, no doubt? Ah, a quarter of an hour ago. Yes. Well, there was a correction slip which some fool had forgotten to place in the examination package. Very brief. Could the Governor please...?
“Yes, of course. I’ll put you straight through to Mr. Jackson in D Wing. Hold the line a minute.”
Was this the sort of thing the Governor had feared? Was the phone call a fake? Some signal? Some secret message...? But he could check on that immediately. He dialled the number of the Examinations Board, but heard only the staccato bleeps of a line engaged. But then the line was engaged, wasn’t it? Yes. Not very intelligent, that...
Two minutes later he heard some whispered communications in the cell, and then McLeery’s broad Scots voice:
“Will ye please stop writing a wee while, Mir. Evans, and listen carefully. Candidates offering German, 021–1, should note the following correction. On page three, line fifteen, the fourth word should read goldenen, not goldene; and the whole phrase will therefore read zum goldenen Löwen, not zum goldene Löwen.’ I will repeat that...”
The Governor listened and smiled. He had taken German in the sixth form himself, and he remembered all about the agreements of adjectives. And so did McLeery, by the sound of things, for the minister’s pronunciation was most impressive. But what about Evans? He probably didn’t know what an adjective was.
The phone rang again. The Magistrates’ Court. They needed a prison van and a couple of prison officers. Remand case. And within two minutes the Governor was wondering whether that could be a hoax. He told himself not to be so silly. His imagination was beginning to run riot.
Evans!
For the first quarter of an hour Stephens had dutifully peered through the peep-hole at intervals of one minute or so; and after that, every two minutes. At 10:45 A.M. he nipped off to the gents’, and was in such a hurry to get back that he found he’d dribbled down his trousers. But everything was still all right as he looked through the peep-hole once more. It took four or five seconds — no more. What was the point? It was always more or less the same. Evans, his pen between his lips, sat staring straight in front of him towards the door, seeking — it seemed — some sorely needed inspiration from somewhere. And opposite him McLeery, seated slightly askew from the table now: his face in semi-profile; his hair (as Stephens had noticed earlier) amateurishly clipped pretty closely to the scalp; his eyes behind the pebble lenses peering short-sightedly at The Church Times; his right index finger hooked beneath the narrow clerical collar; and the fingers of the left hand, the nails meticulously manicured, slowly stroking the short black beard.
At 10:50 A.M. the receiver crackled to life and the Governor realized he’d almost forgotten Evans for a few minutes.
Evans: “Please, sir!” (A whisper)
Evans: “Please, sir!” (Louder)
Evans: “Would you mind if I put a blanket round me shoulders, sir? It’s a bit parky in ’ere, isn’t it?”
Silence.
Evans: “There’s one on me bunk ’ere, sir.”
McLeery: “Be quick about it.”
Silence.
At 10:51 A.M. Stephens was more than a little surprised to see a grey regulation blanket draped round Evans’s shoulders, and he frowned slightly and looked at the examinee more closely. But Evans, the pen still between his teeth, was staring just as vacamtly as before. Blankly beneath a blanket... Should Stephens report the slight irregularity? Anything at all fishy, hadn’t Jackson said? Mm. He looked through the peephole once again, and even as he did so Evans pulled the dirty blanket more closely to himself. Was he planning a sudden batman leap to suffocate McLeery in the blanket? Don’t be daft! There was never any sun on this side of the prison; no heating, either, during the summer months, and it could be quite chilly in some of the cells. Mm. Stephens decided to revert to his earlier every-minute observation.
At 11:20 A.M. the receiver once more crackled across the silence of the Governor’s office, and McLeery informed Evans that only five minutes remained. The examination was almost over now, but something still gnawed away quietly in the Governor’s mind. He reached for the phone once more.
At 11:22 A.M. Jackson shouted along the corridor to Stephens. The Governor wanted to speak with him — “Hurry, man!” Stephens picked up the phone apprehensively and listened to the rapidly spoken orders. Stephens himself was to accompany McLeery to the main prison gates. Understood? Stephens personally was to make absolutely sure that the door was locked on Evans after McLeery had left the cell. Understood?
Understood.
At 11:25 A.M. the Governor heard the final exchanges.
McLeery: “Stop writing, please.”
Silence.
McLeery: “Put your sheets in order and see they’re correctly numbered.”
Silence.